


Sir Caroline and the Winter Feast

by Readerofmuch



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Penumbra Podcast Holiday exchange, adorable really and I'm not sorry, culture adjustment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 01:44:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13330836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Readerofmuch/pseuds/Readerofmuch
Summary: Sir Caroline was not against the Citadel holidays, Thy were simply inconvenient, like walking through a puddle in cloth shoes: brief, and easy enough to recover from. This year though, things have changed. She is to be a guest at the royal winter ball as a knight of the highest order. Even surrounded by friends, she doesn't feel like she belongs. Can one dinner truly change such a long held opinion?





	Sir Caroline and the Winter Feast

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for the lovely Swallowtailed on tumblr, who requested a story about Sir Caroline. I hope you like this one!

Sir Caroline was not much for the Citadel’s holidays. They were loud and disruptive. Even the most tolerable kept her up untold hours and had knights of even the highest order out patrolling the streets to keep the peace. She kept to her own holidays as best she could and tried to leave the capital whenever a festival drew near. This year though, everything was different. This year she was the Queen’s Investigator General. This year she was to be an honoured guest at the Queen’s winter banquet (and no, Sir Caroline, the Her Royal Highness assures you that this is not a request). After her unceremonious eviction from the formal audience that had failed to free her, Sir Caroline was left to prepare for a feast alone. 

“Ah, Sir Caroline!” bellowed a familiar, boisterous voice, shaking her from her thoughts. Sir Angelo was coming down the hall towards the knights’ shared common room. He looked altogether too please to see her. 

“Sir Angelo,” she greeted, trying to stay cordial. “I though you were out hunting that strange and unusual plant?”

“That? It was quite large, but the flower shop contained it enough for it to be destroyed. Though it’s quite strage, I couldn’t find the owner of the shop or his son anywhere, to say nothing of the employees. I can only hope they’ve found their own way. After all, the son does have a habit of suddenly appearing.”

Sir Caroline bit back a terse sigh. That was Sir Angelo for you. 

“I’m glad that’s been attended to then. If that’s all, I have a banquet to prepare for.”

She dodged to the side, hoping to sneak around Sir Angelo. Instead, his face lit up. 

“Of course, the banquet! All the knights of the queen are expected to attend, though I don’t recall seeing you there before.   


Sir Caroline shook her head.

“No, I was… otherwise occupied at the time.”

Sir Angelo immediately surged forward. 

“Excellent! You can sit with Sir Damien and I, if the queen doesn’t have you in the place of honour! I’ll write your name at our table when I report the death of the beast.”

Sir Carline subtly removed her hand from her sword, hoping the reaction to his movement would go unnoticed. Angelo’s offer was generous, whatever her feelings towards him. There would be nothing worse than sitting among the squires at such a large dinner, or worse- with the queen herself. Sitting with the queen would leave her every move under scrutiny. Sitting with Angelo and Damian would leave her free to observe, rather than to be observed herself. 

“Thank you, Sir Angelo. That is… very kind of you.”

“Don’t think twice about it, Sir Caroline. We knights must stick together after all.”

With that, Sir Angelo was gone just as quickly as he had appeared. He was inordinately subtle for such a large man. Now all Caroline had to do was to prepare for the feast. Simple enough, or so she thought. 

After far too long spent staring into a wardrobe that suddenly contained nothing she would feel even remotely comfortable wearing to a dinner among friends- let alone before the queen- Caroline had to admit that perhaps she had not been entirely correct about the difficulty of the task set before her. There was only one person she could ask about courtly matters and manners, and she was not eager to ask his aid. However, any port in a storm. Scowling, she walked down the hallway towards a wooden door identical to all of those around it. She knocked lightly, but the muttering inside didn’t even pause. She knocked again and lifted her voice to be heard above the half formed poetry. 

“Sir Damien? I need to speak with you.”

The muttering stopped, and there was a sound like someone knocking sheafs of poetry onto the floor in surprise and then immediately dumping an entire pot of ink on them. After a moment of panicked scuffling Sir Damien opened the door to Sir Caroline’s poorly masked amusement. 

“Sir Caroline? Does the queen require me? Does some myriad monstrous maelstrom merit the citadel’s strongest knight?”

Sir Caroline could almost see Sir Damien working himself up into a frenzy. She held out a hand to bring Damien some of the tranquility he spoke of so often. 

“No, Sir Damien, nothing so alarming. I’ve come for a more personal reason.”

Sir Damien looked aghast, and it took a moment for Sir Caroline to determine why. 

“Sr Caroline, I am engaged! Though I know you have all of the… appetites of a woman, I thought-”

“Sir Damien!” She barked, cutting through his astonishment. “Calm yourself. I do not want you in… that way. It’s about the banquet.”

Sir Damien let out a sigh in relief. 

“Of course, what do you require?”

“I’m unfamiliar with the Citadel’s customs. What exactly does a knight of the crown wear to a royal dinner?”

Sir Damien’s eyes lit up, and Sir Caroline’s stomach fell. He looked all together too excited for her comfort. 

The banquet itself fell a week later, just after the New Year’s celebration. The queen hadn’t said anything about a place of honour. Instead, all four sat at a table close to the edge of the feast. Amaryllis (“Please, call me Rilla”) disliked crowds, and Damien needed to be able to leave if he needed to. It was a good place for Sir Caroline. She could see the entire feasthall from their table. As the evening progressed, Caroline found that despite her best efforts she was actually enjoying the banquet. Though custom had forced her into a skirt beneath her formal uniform, Rilla looked just as uncomfortable in her flowing purple dress. The table was never quiet either. Sir Damien whispered poetry that bordered on treasonous as the queen made her third speech of the banquet, and Sir Angelo knew all the bawdiest jokes. It wasn’t better than solitude, but it was… something. 

They were having a conversation about the holiday just then. Caroline still didn’t quite understand the reason for it- though Damien had certainly told her enough times- but she was starting to understand the celebrations. Sir Angelo told a long story about his grandmother’s wine glasses: she kept setting them down and forgetting them. At one point, someone had counted five different glasses that she had abandoned, only for her to promptly down them and liven up the night considerably. Sir Damien told stories of his mother’s food and the stories she used to tell. Even Rilla had stories about racing her brothers to the table to see who would sit next to their grandmother, and playing together afterwards while the adults had wine and conversation. Sir Caroline listened, but she had nothing to add. There were holidays like this back home, of course. Big family dinners, absolutely, and nights spent driving the cold away with each others company. Every so often, though, something would come up that reminded her that she didn’t belong here. Sir Angelo called out to traditions she had never heard of, or Rilla mentioned stories she had no way of knowing. She wasn’t one of them. She could never forget that. 

“So, Sir Caroline,” said Rilla conversationally, “What are you doing for the Saints dinner tomorrow?”

Sir Caroline blinked. They’d been discussing the Saints dinner for much of the evening, but it had seemed to be more of a family affai

“My family is far from here, not that I’d care to see them anyways.”

Rilla’s face contorted, and Sir Damien stepped in.

“It seems we’ve neglected in your education on Citadel traditions. For adults, the Saints dinner is just as often spent among friends as it is family. Rilla was wondering if you had plans for the evening.”

Caroline paused. In truth, she had been planning to spend the night in the training arena. It would be empty, leaving her more space. She knew that this was not the answer they were looking for though, and she wavered. Her silence lasted a beat too long. 

“Well, the there’s only one solution!” boomed Sir Angelo. 

“If Rilla agrees,” said Sir Damien nervously, “I will.”

Rilla nodded, once, smiling broadly. She was beautiful, though this was far from the first time Caroline had noticed. 

So that was how Sir Caroline found herself hovering awkwardly outside the healer’s hut on the edge of the Citadel clutching a plate of spice cake and wondering why in all the hells she was so nervous. She had faced monsters before. One dinner shouldn’t be anything too difficult. She was no poet, after all. 

With that, she knocked. 

“Come in!” shouted a familiar voice that definitely did not belong to Rilla. 

Caroline entered carefully, unsure of what to expect. Whatever she’d been expecting though, it wasn’t the salamander knight sitting at an enormous table. 

"Sir Caroline! Welcome. What did you bring?”

“It’s a dessert from my homeland… Where is everyone?”

Marc blinked and wrinkled his forehead. 

“Tal’s gone out to bring more wood in, Sir Damien was cooking but he burned the pie after Sir Angelo tried to help with the gravy and burned his hand, so Rilla’s off comforting both of them and tending to the burn. I’m here, waiting for you and making sure the kitchen doesn’t burn down.”

“Wait,” said Caroline, still not processing. “If the kitchen does start to burn down, what are you going to do about it?”

Marc paused, and then shrugged. 

“Guess I’ll die.”

Sir Caroline squeezed around the table and set the plate down carefully on the only open patch of counter space she could find. 

“Marc, about the incident with the Janus beast…”

“Tonight is a night for celebration. We’ll leave old wounds in the past, though this isn’t over.”

Sir Caroline gulped. The second sentence sounded not so much like a threat as it did a promise. She didn’t have too long to fret though, as Talfryn came back with an armload of wood quickly. He greeted her curtly, but didn’t say much. The others weren’t too far behind, and before Caroline knew it she had been swept up in an unexpected wave of warmth. For the evening, all titles were dropped. It felt almost uncomfortably intimate. 

The table as crowded, but not impossibly so. Caroline wound up beside Damien, with Angelo next to her at the foot of the table mostly because there simply wasn’t enough room for him anywhere else. In return for his position, he carried ridiculous amounts of food at once to the table as Rilla scrambled to free hot pads from drawers and experiments. Damien looked like he was scarcely a moment away from standing up to do it all himself at any given moment, but to his credit he managed to stay seated even after Angelo came within centimeters of dumping sweet potatoes all over both Marc and Talfryn. 

Dinner started well. Everything was delicious of course. Damien had spent hours mixing and mashing while Rilla was nearly kicked out of her own home. Because of- or more likely despite- Angelo’s help, the gravy was amazing. Everything was so different from what Caroline was used to. The food was richer, the conversation was livelier, and it seemed like everyone actually wanted to be there. 

Then the conversation turned. The meal was ending as everyone debated seconds, or even thirds, and talk had turned towards the knighthood and the queen. 

“It’s not that I doubt the queen,” said Damien, “of course I don’t! I could never! It just seems there may be more going on than she lets on.”

Rilla nodded emphatically, and even Angelo looked over from his conversation with Marc about proper sword care. 

“I don’t know what she’s planning, but I don’t like it.” Posits Rilla. “There’s too much risk now, for the knights and for the citadel. Something’s got to give.”

“Nonsense!” boomed Sir Angelo, letting the secondary conversation die. “The life of a knight is risk itself. We are the strength of the citadel, and we are the ones to bear the risk alone.”

Marc nodded. 

“The citadel does offer many protections for officially sanctioned knights.”

The slight tinge of bitterness in his voice went unremarked, but Caroline could still feel the conversation sour. 

“Protections we require to keep the citadel safe,” said Angelo. 

“While you should absolutely not be put at risk, the queen could absolutely make knighthood more widely accessible,” mediated Rilla. 

“Should she though?” asked Damien. “It seems that anyone can become a knight now, and it’s unjust to let another’s weakness put proper knights at risk.”

Both Marc and Caroline flinched noticeably, and Damien started on damage control. 

“Of course I don't mean you two! Both of you are strong despite your… failings.”

“Our failings?” asked Sir Marc.

“No, no, that's not what I meant. I was only- I referred to- oh Saint Damien, your tranquility, your tranquility!” 

Angelo stepped in as his friend faltered, hoping to bridge the gap.

“Now friends-” 

“We're not your friends,” said Talfryn. 

“I'm sure Damien was not referring to you. Clearly he meant others who would deem themselves fit for the queens service.” 

“Deem themselves fit?” Asked Caroline, incensed. “Is that what you think we did? Both Sir Marc and I passed our trials several times over. I can assure you, we did far more than simply declare ourselves fit for knighthood. We earned it.”

The room fell silent for a moment, before Marc broke the silence. He was grinning broadly and he looked like Caroline had given him the best gift he'd had all year. 

“Thank you, Sir Caroline. That… That meant a lot to me.” 

With the tension tentatively broken, the room quickly dissolved into a buzz of conversation and apologies. Marc thanked Talfryn for his support while Angelo tried to comfort an incessantly apologizing Damien. Amidst the chaos,  Caroline stood and cleared her throat. 

“Who wants dessert?”

Damien raised a hand like a school child. 

“Sir- er, Caroline- there's no dessert. I burned the pies after Angelo burned his hand.”

Caroline smiled.

“You're not the only one who can cook, Damien. It's a tradition in my homeland to bring something sweet wherever you go visiting. Usually it's something akin to a hard almond cookie, but cake is perfectly acceptable.” 

Rilla emerged from the kitchen with the round spice cake. 

“That cake looks more than acceptable,” enthused Marc, “Though I'm not so sure about the shape. Isn't cake typically rectangular and flat?”

Caroline snorted. 

“Around here maybe. Proper cake is round, with a hole in the middle, and not slathered with that over abundance of icing the citadel is so fond of.”

Angelo returned triumphant with plates, forks and a disconcertingly large knife for a healer.

“Proper or otherwise, as long as I get a taste.”

Cake was cut and sent happily around the table. Before long, everyone was eating, and everyone loved it. Caroline looked up from her piece suddenly. She felt something that she hadn't felt in far too long: she was happy. In the healers’ hut on the edge of the citadel Sir Caroline felt like she had found the home she’s lacked for so long- a home far stronger than the one she’d left behind so many years ago.


End file.
